What Hurts the Most
by TheKingJingles
Summary: Before the Winter War begins, Hitsugaya Toshirou must do the one thing he never wanted to do. He must cut all ties to the human world, including his beloved, no matter how badly it hurts. ONE SHOT HitsugayaXOC


Yo, Jin-sama here. I know I promised xxlemon to work hard on my multi-chapter HitsugayaXOC fic, but I was listening to "Hey There Delilah" by the Plain White T's and within the first five seconds I had this in my head. I hope you enjoy because I spend six hours writing this and stayed up till 1 in the morning. (That's saying something because my bedtime is 10pm sharp.) God, I'm tired. Now, I know that the song is a pretty catchy love song and this fic ends in tragedy, but I couldn't help myself. My muse has been pretty mean lately, making me stay up late with a one shot and not letting me work on my other fic. It deserves a time out! (But I'm too lazy.)

So, without further ado.

**What Hurts the Most**

Written by: TheKingJingles

* * *

He sat in his office, staring beyond the dark burgundy wood and the shimmering lilac disk in his hand. Over and over, his fingers trailed gently across the smooth surface of the agate as he flipped it. His thumb ran over the clear center and towards the outer rims of the rainbow of violet, lingering on one of the thicker amethyst rings before flipping it again.

The memories were so clear, but the concept, the deed he had done was unreal. The entire scene was implausible and he refused to believe that it happened. Only it did.

Her face was the one thing he couldn't forget, no matter how hard he tried. The pain throbbed worse than any wound he had ever been subject to; the worst part was: she stayed silent through everything he said with a somber smile of acceptance. Oh, how he wished she would cry, yell, slap him, hurt him in some physical way, anything to lessen this burning ache in his chest.

But no, that was the way she was. She never expected anything from him, never pushed her questions far enough to bother him, never questioned his sudden disappearances or lame excuses. Every time he was late she was sad, of course, but she always forgave him whenever he turned the corner with her favorite tropical smoothie in his hand. It was unbearable! No matter how hard he tried to rub her faults in her face, she could never hold a grudge against him or be mad at him, only stare at him with that adorable clueless look.

His eyes narrowed and his lips curled back over his teeth in a snarl. The agate necklace in his hand shined in the late evening sun, the same time he had last seen her. The last time he was in the human world.

Behind the line on the edge of the world, the smoldering sun flared and splashed all the colors imaginable across the young night sky. On the opposite end, the sky had faded into a dark blue that slowly grew, like tugging a blanket over the world and preparing it for a long, deep sleep. He'd asked her nonchalantly to her favorite spot: the fountain across the street from the mall, the place where she had picked up his cell phone when his gigai dropped it. Damn faulty thing.

She sat with her back to the water, several droplets flying far enough to make dark spots in white and blue stripped polo. There, she ignored the world, all its honking and shouting and screeching, and leaned back on her palms with her face pointed straight to the sky. It was her own universe that she lived in, a place no one else has seen and he, himself, has only been able to steal glimpses of. It wasn't that she was standing behind the glass looking out, but quite the opposite; she lived in a way that everyone else was looking in.

As always, he attempted to sneak up on her from her flank, creeping with his superhuman stealth. His footsteps were so light, even the twittering pigeons didn't notice him. Two more steps and he was standing over her, his plain white shirt drenched in her shadow. Slowly and cautiously, with an unwavering hand, he reached out to pet her cheek, stopping only a few centimeters before her luscious skin that drunk in the flaming sunset.

"Hi, Hitsu-chan."

And, as always, she knew it was him without moving a millimeter. No part of her twitched or gave her away, even to his diligently trained senses. Now, her eyes opened and stared back at him. He faltered; despite how hard he tried to keep his composure or how many times she had slapped him with that face, so innocent and open. Part of his mind kept reasoning that she should be the easiest book to read, with such pure emotions shown within her eyes, yet not a single person has correctly guessed the thoughts that swirled behind those lids.

"Hi," he breathed, still unable to call his voice back from wherever she sent it to. Baffled, and too emotionally worn to try and figure out her inimitable logic, he plopped down beside her and plunked his head onto her shoulder. It was wrong; he shouldn't be touching her, feeling her velvet skin would only make it harder, he thought as she nuzzled her cheek to his.

"What-cha thinkin' 'bout?" she asked, eyes glued to the horizon. Her voice was soft, as to not break the stillness she felt, for it didn't matter that the mom across the street was yanking on her child's hand and yelling sharply at him. If she thought they were lost behind the door to the world, then the world would have to knock hard to draw her attention away from wherever it was. At the moment it was him, and he still had the nerve to feel selfish enough to want it all for himself, replaying the way her voice sounded like the staccato pluck of a viola's strings.

He hesitated at first, then went with the safest option, "Nothing."

She hummed, the song of the siren pulling him closer, but didn't push the subject. They fell into a comfortable calm, for her, at least. Either she was too detached to notice, or more understanding than he ever thought, but she left him to his own issues and did not pressure him to touch her or pay attention to her.

Quickly, he thought, That must be best. Do it quickly with that cold charm he was infamous for. That way, both of them could walk away with the majority of their hearts in tact.

"Aubrey," he started, but unable to finish. He couldn't do it.

"Just talk."

Shifting his head slightly, he glanced at her face which was still as impassive as ever. With his thawed eyes, he concentrated on her nose and the dab of color on her cheeks from the waning sun, memorizing the way the crimson light made her lips shine with the blood he was about to spill.

"Don't think about what you have to say. Just talk and it will probably come out."

The scrunched face he made looked quite sadistic and he was disappointed that she couldn't see. Perhaps seeing how heartless he could be would make her disgusted with him as he wished her to be. He barked a crazy laugh and pressed his face deeper into her skin.

He only paused one more time, thinking about how to phrase it in a way that she, for sure, would understand.

"What if," he sighed, savoring the sweet smell of her hair, "I was playing a game? The most dangerous one in the world, where everything I love could be ripped away at any moment. My opponent doesn't care about the rules, only that I lose."

"Well…"

She stretched and pondered, scratching her chin. Her fingers were erratic, each painted a different shade and color and always hiding behind her stretched out long-sleeved shirt beneath her polo. Arching her back a bit, she twisted and buried her face in his white locks, purring low and cute, and then returning to her previous pose.

"You don't have a pause button or a time-out before the puck is dropped and you have to either make or miss the field goal. This chump doesn't care about your trophies and will probably take a moment to rub his medals in your face, if you'll give it to him. You've got to act as soon as the hand is dealt and before the whistle blows if you want a shot at winning gold," she said with a completely even tone, "Remember, Hitsu-chan. In the game of Life, the spinner keeps on spinning whether you want it to or not. Your chords and pull-offs will either rock or drop, and the only thing that you can win is a couple more piece of paper or a house on an expensive Ave; Maybe a couple more pink or blue sticks to put in your car on your drive down the cardboard roads and plastic hills. But what can you lose? Time? A poker buddy or two? I think a movie full of laughs and loves is more fulfilling than a poster of glory, don't you?"

Grudgingly, he pulled his head from its warm and protected nest to gawk at her, completely mystified. She didn't flinch or look away from the sun, now more than halfway underneath the curve of the world. One of his eyes squinted in thought as he mulled about what she said. On the surface, the constant string of metaphors jumbled and mish mashed so that no one could be able to decipher it. Yet, the more he pondered on it, the message was, in reality, or as close to hers as he could get, pretty clear.

What she was saying was that he didn't have the luxury to fret about what would happen if he lost to Aizen, for as she said, that bastard would destroy everything he cared about in the most tortuous ways. And also, he wasn't able to grasp his hands on any more time to prolong his temporary haven.

More than that, she hit the nail on the head on that part. What _could_ he win? Even if Aizen was defeated, how much longer would this peace last, especially for a captain in the most hazardous profession of all? His life was constantly on the line, rarely was it safe from danger. Not that his life matter much to him, but what about Matsumoto, Kurosaki or Hinamori? Ukitake? Would he be able to protect Aubrey's life?

With his eyes rolling back into his head, he released a shudder that ran the length of his spine. Her lips pulled down into a frown. She brought both of her arms and, after wrapping her hands in her cuffs, enveloped him in her embrace and pulled him into her love. Yes, that's what it was. It could not be described as merely a hug, for how could so much emotion and thoughtfulness be put into a simple touch? He willingly sunk into the soft, cushiony breasts and allowed her to rack her multi-colored fingers through his hair. The little motion displayed all of her love and concern, the fact that he now sat in her lap and she concealed him in a place where, he knew, he would be hidden forever, or as soon she _wanted_ to reveal him.

No. Despite all he could do, all he wanted and all he would do, it wouldn't be Aizen who would take Aubrey away from him. It would be Soul Society. Yamamoto and the rules set down the by ancients, the code he had vowed to uphold with every fiber of his existence would rip her from his arms. There was nothing he could do to protect her and he hated it.

No, that was another lie. There was one thing. The last resort he came here for, the last stab in the back.

He pressed himself as close as he could to her, pushing every part of his body to make every contour of hers. Further and further, he was diggings so deep, he was about to come out the other side, but it still was too far away. Never did she complain about the pain she must have felt, only did everything in her power to accommodate his want, his need. His face was stuck in the cleft of her breasts and for once, it was the most joyous feeling in the world; the lust in him rose to the breaking point and his tongue snaked out for a leisurely, seductive lick across the length of her collar bone.

Her perfect lips twitched for a smile that was unable to bloom. She was too focused on smothering him with her love and protection, much like a mother with her newborn baby. But their relationship was like that, never definite, but changing from second to second like an evolving amoeba. One minute it could be sibling love, then switch to mother-son or father-daughter, then melt into lovers by the time the moon rose.

Sighing, he relished the scent of her skin before pulling away, backing out far and standing on his shaky legs. He didn't watch her face as it failed to become disappointed or upset, instead choosing to stare down the sun as it sunk below the trees.

"Aubrey," his voice held a slight tremor, but didn't break.

She smiled, all-too comfortingly. As if she would be able to accept anything that came from his mouth.

"I need you to listen to this carefully. This isn't a joke I'm about to tell you."

Again, her mouth with tipped up and her eyes shimmering at him. She wanted to encourage him on, but he wanted to convince himself to would back down.

"Aubrey," one last breath, "I don't love you."

It was silent behind him; no reaction whatsoever, but he refused to turn around and look. One quick glance to her pale purple contacts would be enough to crush his spirit into a fine powder.

"I don't love you. Actually, I doubt if I ever have. I guess it was all just a fling for me. It didn't matter much."

The quietness behind him was eerie. It wasn't just silent; there was an absence of sound. Another shiver desperately wanted to ripple through him, but with all his willpower, he forced it to stop. He didn't have to see her face to know what was happening. Perhaps that was too hard. His heart couldn't take having to put her through _that_ much pain.

"No, that's a lie! I mean," he exhaled noisily and ruffled his hair, "It wasn't a fling, the time was nice, but that's all it was. I thought you might be the one for me, but you're not."

"Okay."

He whipped around, eyes flung as wide as he frantically searched her up and down. Anything, any clue would do. He just needed to find out whether she was lying or not. Oh god, at least grant that small prayer!

But no, her face was calm, though her face was no longer smiling and shiny. It had darkened, grown dull in that short time. Those eyes were still unusually wide for her face and still shown straight into her soul, but there was no emotion. Was she hiding it, or was there nothing there at all?

"No really," she noticed his concern and widened her lips, but didn't smile, "It's okay. If those are your feelings, then I'm glad you told me. I wouldn't want you to hold that inside for any longer than after you've realized it. That'd hurt more than a nasty paper cut."

That was it. No tears, no crying or anything like that. They talked a little more while the fading sun scorched his flesh more than the flames of hell, no more grins reaching her eyes, no more actual smiles. Only that twitch of her lips while her mouth kept widening too far over her face as she politely answered and asked nonchalantly, continuing to let him slide on the most important questions.

After a while, they grew tired of the awkward small talk, and he was almost at the boiling point with her. His plans had all ruined; not once was she upset, at him or at anything. Their goodbyes were very formal, as if departing for the first time and he courteously wished her luck at returning to the United States. He wished for a safe flight and he respectfully hoped that she was happier at a college closer to home, commenting lightly on how Nihon University just wasn't "the one" for her.

When they parted, it took everything in his body not to look back. He wasn't sure, but for once, he could have sworn out of the corner of his eye, he saw every last detail about her, knew what she was thinking, what made her tick, how she viewed the world. Turn, turn and run back to her arms! But he couldn't. The look of utter defeat and rejection that was deeply etched into her face was permanent; his heart strings actually snapped as he slowly realized that the tormented look on her face was his fault.

He returned to Soul Society as stoic as ever. Not once did he let his emotions betray him and show others his weakness. Yet for people like Matsumoto or Ukitake, they knew on some level. They knew something was wrong, something was _obviously_ wrong, but not one person had any clue besides his busty vice-captain.

Staring at the agate stone again, he remembered how she gave it to him, originally as a parting gift, but changed it to a good luck charm. The idiot, thinking that saying it would make it so. His fingernails absently picked at the rough shell of the rock; the jagged skin was ugly and cold, but inside was beautiful. He'd thought she was crazy when she compared him to a rock, but maybe she was right.

"Taicho!" That oh-too familiar voice called. Cheerful and perky as normal, but frantic? It was funny how easily he could pick out emotions from everyone else now, though he was never successful reading the one person that mattered.

The paper door slammed open, leaving scuff marks on the wooden wall that framed it. Then it crashed shut. Weird, he mused, she never used to be worried about others knowing every detail of my life.

"Taicho, I have very important information," she began, but hesitated, her eyes locked on the stone in his grasp no doubt.

"Yes, Matsumoto?" He drawled, voice almost slurred.

"I got this news from Shuuhei, who strangle got it from Kira, but he said he got it from Ikkaku, which doesn't make sense, of course, he must be lying _or_ he got it from Yumichika, which I don't doubt, but the fact is Urahara—"

"Do you have a point to your rambling?" his voice rumbled, protesting having to work so hard to end that irritating, bubbly voice.

"Urahara-san found this. He received it from one of his contacts positioned around the globe," At last, she held out a manila folder with a report resting inside. It was uncharacteristic of her to hesitate as she gently placed it on the dark wood in front of him, then stepped back to respectfully give him space.

Lazily, he rolled his head to stare at it. He did not set the necklace down, but tucked it into his palm before reaching and trailing his fingers over the velvety paper, then picked it up and flipped open, several papers covered by a newspaper clipping meeting his weary eyes.

This cut pained him more than anything else he had done. It hurt so bad, his insides were completely hollow; the pain could only be described as the emptiness that already existed eating away at itself, for nothing else would have fazed him. The words were big and bold, each letter slicing his heart into tinier pieces.

**FORMER NIHON UNIVERSITY STUDENT COMMITS SUICIDE**

The clipping went on to depict the gruesome way the student had killed itself, slitting the wrists, downing a bottle of prescription medicines and after finding that all of that couldn't take the agony away, a messy cut with a butcher knife across the throat. It was a slow and suffering death, one that police say overruled jumping off a cliff by only a slight margin. There was a small, blurry picture at the bottom, but he needn't look at it to know how deeply his words had wounded her. He was the cause of her death, and he would never allow himself to forget that.

The cover to the folder plopped close when he returned it to the desk, the hovering Matsumoto swaying in her spot yet not letting herself move. She stepped forward tentatively, one of her hands outreached to comfort him, the other safely enfolded in her chest.

"Taicho…?" Matsumoto whispered.

He gripped the agate in his hand, a stone the perfect color to match her contacts. It was being squeezed so tight, his nails were screeching as if on a chalkboard, leaving long marks down the shiny polish. Small chips fell onto his ironed uniform, but he didn't bat an eyelash. With dawn-out, strained movements, he pressed the necklace to his forehead, praying that some merciful god would brand him like the sinner he was.

His left hand was shaking so violently the pens on his desk were rattling. Where's the earthquake? That's what she would've said, he just knew it. The skin on his face was scrunched so tight, the wrinkles could have been permanent, his eyes squinted so close that the tears he desperately wanted to hold slid between the cracks.

It didn't hurt when he made the fist, or when he slammed it as hard as he could onto his desk. None of the splinters that flew bothered him and neither did the noise of the wood snapping in half from the blow. Matsumoto's surprised gasp didn't pierce his grief. Eventually, after all her distressed enquiries, she let him be while she fetched someone to help. But nothing, nothing in the universe could help him.

A sinner like him deserves no help.

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I hope you enjoyed it! Remember constructive criticism is accepted and encouraged! I had a small idea of a sequel if you would want one, so please include your opinion in your review. (Don't worry, that ending is much happier.) And, I am writing a Hitsugaya and OC multi-chapter, so please check it out as well!

This is Jin-sama reporting for What Ails Yah News. We'll see yah next time, world.


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